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And this is why it’s easier to avoid her. “What do you want me to say? I’ll say it if you’ll just let me sleep.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re a victim. All I want is a clue. What is happening? And why can’t you talk to me? What happened with us?”
So that’s it. “I thought you were worried about your brother, and now you’re asking about us?”
“News flash: it’s possible to care about more than one thing at a time.”
“I’m learning so much from you.”
“Asshole.” She punctuates that with a pillow thrown at the back of my head.
“Congratulations.” I roll over, growling, and thrust the pillow at her. “You’ve got my attention. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Are you satisfied?”
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so I have the distinct displeasure of watching confusion wash over her face. She’s like a wounded puppy, searching in vain for understanding. “Why are you treating me like this?” The anger has drained from her voice, replaced by hurt. I think I would rather she be angry. I’d rather take a dozen pillows to the back of the head than one second of her pained expression.
“How am I treating you?” Because, in the end, I can’t afford to give in. I want to—and that alone is concerning. But I can’t. There’s too much riding on this. I need to stay clear-headed and get my priorities straight. She can’t be one of them.
“Like I’m nobody. Like it’s okay for me to just hang around here without anybody to talk to or anything to do. I’m going out of my skull—and so is Jase,” she quickly adds, like it’s not enough for her to complain about herself. He’s always on her mind.
“And somehow, that’s my problem?”
Her forehead creases, and she sputters for a second. “Don’t you care? I mean, if you want me to keep staying here, things will have to change. I can’t live like this. Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Let’s get something straight.” If anything, she’s making it easy on me. I’m too tired to be kind, so in a way, she chose the best time to push me like this. “You can leave at any time. Don’t act like you’re doing me any favors by being here, all right? If you’re so unhappy, go, and good luck.”
Her head snaps back like she’s been hit. “Is that how you really feel?” Like she can’t believe it… or doesn’t want to.
“And what if it is? So what? You don’t think this is fun for me, do you?”
“I… I mean…” She looks down at the pillow she’s holding and chews her lip. “I don’t know. I thought we… Like, we had a moment…”
“Are you sure about that?”
“We didn’t? Do you mean you really don’t… You know, feel anything for me at all?”
“Right now, I feel irritation. Resentment, too, since I need my sleep, and you’re getting in the way of that.”
“I’m not tired.”
I roll over, determined to shut her out because, dammit, it’s what needs to be done. She’s already got the wrong idea. “So go watch TV. Better yet, do it in your own suite.”
One endless second after another passes with no sound or movement from her side of the bed. I don’t have to look at her to see the pain I’ve caused, but this needs to be done. Things have already gone too far.
That doesn’t stop my heart from sinking when I feel her get out of bed. She doesn’t say a word. She only gets her things together, then leaves, and somehow, the way she quietly closes the door behind her is the worst part of this. There isn’t even a dramatic slam.
It’s better this way. I’m not sure how I could make it any clearer that she’s much safer here than she would be anywhere else. And I think she has a healthy fear of digging too deep into what goes on in the hotel to do anything stupid like exploring again.
Somehow, it gives me no peace. And even though I know I’d be unconscious by now if she hadn’t started a fight, sleep is miles away. My thoughts won’t stop churning. There’s no end to the guilt.
None of this is her fault. I’m the one who’s already let things go too far, and I’m punishing her for it.
And now, she’ll go to sleep alone, maybe crying and wondering what she did to make me change so suddenly. Two days ago, we were enjoying each other’s company. I was making pancakes and even giving her a little insight into the hotel and what we do.
Now, I’m pushing her away with no explanation—being cruel on purpose.
“Fuck me.” With a groan, I rise to pull on a pair of sweats before leaving the apartment and heading downstairs to her suite. No way am I getting a minute’s sleep until this is at least partly settled.
